Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution by Ian D. Moore

he’s here, Nate,” Evie acknowledged.
    “Right then, two things: The can and a brew, in that order—I need to make room for one before I have the other,” Stewey quipped.
    “Sounds like a plan. Quite an operation they have here, already. Let’s see, we have fuel dumps, barracked accommodation, which means there must be both toilets and catering, couple hundred troops by the look of it too. This doesn’t look like your average ship collision, not that I’ve seen that many this close to hand,” Nathan observed.
    “Yes, but I don’t see bio-suits anywhere,” Stewey added.
    “We can’t see the vessel from here. Someone planned this very well to keep out prying eyes. They have pretty much built a small military facility from shipping containers. Do you have any idea who the other suits were, Evie?”
    “No, I wondered that myself. Aside from the goon squad and Charles, the others are a mystery soon to be solved, no doubt. One face rings a bell, strangely enough, I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I can’t remember where,” Evie added.
    “After you.” Nathan gestured with a smile to Evie.

12 – Landfall
     
    Port of Murmansk, Russia, 26 th June, Twelve hours earlier.
    The icy, churning waters of the Barents Sea enveloped us in a hungry, eager embrace as we plummeted from the side of the Baltic Wanderer .
    My grip on Barbie’s wrist subconsciously tightened as we entered the water together, both disappearing below the waves before a struggle against the propeller-churned torrent to the surface. The intense cold made me suck inwards, to be rewarded with the bitter taste of salt, mingled with old diesel oil. I spluttered and spat repeatedly to rid the sickly combination, fighting to keep my head above the water.
    Every extremity became numb within minutes. My arms and legs thrashed wildly, without consideration for direction or forward motion. It was more of an uncontrollable series of spasms to match the chatter of my teeth. Barbie bobbed up a few feet away, dazed, confused, and flapping her arms in sheer panic. I channelled all of my energy into making my limbs do what I wanted them to do.
    When the memory of her admission about being unable to swim hit me, I began to pull hard against the waves towards her. Luckily, when I got to her, she was still surfaced, though clearly the situation wasn’t good. I hooked my arm under her chin to tilt her head back slightly, to initiate a natural prone position, which would make it easier for me to get us both to shore.
    “B-B-Barbie! Barbie, l-listen to me. I’ve got you, we’re s-safe but you need to help me now. You’re not going to d-drown. I need you to calm d-down and start k-kicking with your legs. Can you d-do that for me?” I shouted, between shivers.
    A slight, jerky nod of her head, between spluttered coughs and gasps, confirmed she’d understood as she began to kick out. As I turned us away from the wake of the vessel, we observed its pace, racked with that awful water-echoed sound of something once majestic, dying. The ship groaned and wailed as the hull, sheared from beneath it, rapidly filled with seawater, which made the boat tilt bow down minutes before it collided with the harbour wall. I could have sworn I felt the vibrations of the impact from our position.
    The vision of the whirling propellers, tilted skyward, became imprinted on my mind. We had to move, find dry land, or we would surely freeze to death. With my one free arm, I scooped at the water, paddling for the shoreline to land out of sight of the unfolding drama. The ship would leave us one last legacy in death, that of distraction to aid our escape.
    Still a hundred metres or so from land, Barbie unhooked my arm, rolled to her front, and began to paddle alongside me. If I didn’t run the risk of taking in a mouthful of that contaminated water again, my jaw would have dropped.
    How the hell?
    Even I didn’t learn to swim that fast. Near exhaustion, my feet finally scraped the